The chauffeur laughed out aloud. "Heaven forbid!" he exclaimed.

"I'm sure Sir Samuel would forbid, anyhow," said I.

"Do you know, I don't think this trip's going to be so bad?" said he.

"Neither do I," I murmured in my veil.

We both laughed a good deal then. But luckily the glass was expensively
thick, and the car was singing.

"What are you laughing at?" I asked.

"Something that it takes a little sense of humour to see, when you've
been down on your luck," said he.

"A sense of humour was the only thing my ancestors left me," said I. "I
don't wonder you laugh. It really is quaintly funny."

"Do you think we're laughing at the same thing?"

"I'm almost sure of it."

"Do tell me your part, and let's compare notes."

"Well, it's something that nobody but us in this car--unless it's the
car itself--knows."

"Then it is the same thing. They haven't an idea of it, and wouldn't